Warmth
by shockin'blueeyes
Summary: She has always been there, but you never noticed until today, when she found you shaking with cold and grief at Fred's grave, again.


Written for Flitwick's prompt of the day with the prompt 'Your guardian angel'. Just a small, fluffy angst (I don't no how is that even possible) of how George and Angelina could have gotten together after Fred's death.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

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'Here, drink' she says, and you take the steaming mug she offers you, full of hot cocoa. You shiver under your cloak and grip tighter the mug, watching her move around her small kitchen, her back turned to you and her long, curly hair falling pass her shoulders.

You take a sip while you think of the epiphany that hit you a good half hour ago, when she found you shaking with cold and grief at Fred's grave. You haven't said anything since she found you, and you know she's beginning to get worried, because these days you seem to talk a lot, trying desperately to conceal the gaping hole in your sentences that belongs to him and him alone.

It's been nearly two years without him, two years since that hole in your chest appeared, and during that time you had tried everything to forget- no, not forget, that, you know you can't and won't do it- but _accept_ that he's gone for good, that he's not coming back, and that he'd want you to be happy and go on with your life. But nothing seems to work except Angelina. You hadn't noticed it till today, but she has always been there, either if you needed her or not. She's been the one to hold your hand at every memorial held for Fred, the one on whose shoulder you have cried and cried and has never said anything about it. The one to pick you up every time you go to visit Fred's grave and forget about everything else, the one to help in the shop those days you just can't bear to get out of bed. She has been the one all along, your guardian angel, and you have never noticed until today.

She sits in front of you and you look at her, and she looks right back at you, and you can't help it if a tiny thought creeps into your brain and shakes it.

What if she's doing this because she wants Fred and you're the perfect substitute? What if it was Fred all along the one she wanted and she pretends it's him sitting in front of her and not you, George?

But she's not stupid. She can't pretend you're Fred, because Fred didn't have a hole in his head and in his chest, and Fred smiled, not frowned. And now that she's looking at you, you search her eyes and can't see any of the longing that clouds everyone else's eyes when they look at you: Your mother, who looks at you when you're not looking and she squints, trying to see double again; your father, who openly stares at the empty space besides you at every meal at the Burrow… Everybody who knew Fred looks at you that way, and you want to scream at them that you know he's dead and that you'll always be half empty, and that you don't need them to remind you with every stare.

But Angelina doesn't look at you like that, even if she was once Fred's girlfriend, and you find yourself unable to look away from those rich brown eyes, those warm, soothing eyes. You want to thank her for being there and apologise for being so oblivious when it was clear she was grieving too, but the words get lost somewhere in their way up, because instead you ask:

'Do you think of Fred when you are with me?' she gently puts your mug down on the table and takes your hands. Hers feel strangely warm against yours.

'George' she whispers your name, and your heart warms a little bit and the hollow space in it shrinks an inch. 'George, I miss him terribly, but I know you're not Fred' she's barely finished talking when suddenly your lips are on hers, and she tastes like cocoa and sugar, and after a few seconds you realise she hasn't pulled away, and that she's in fact clinging to your jumper. Your hands find their way to her face, and the empty space in your heart keeps shrinking.

And there you stay, kissing your guardian angel that irradiates warmth, and when you finally pull apart, you grin for the first time in two years.

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Well, what can I say, I love them.

Review!


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